Pardon the stupid question

  Last night I happened to see a segment on the ESPN program, Pardon the interruption and I thought I had lost control of my senses. There above the bar was a caption that said Best halftime show ever? and a clip of a dog riding a monkey. I found myself flabbergasted. I was truly offended by that question mark. Who would ever turn such a statement into a question?

  Of course a dog riding a monkey is the greatest halftime show ever! Janet Jackson could shimmy butt naked across Reliant Field singing Land of a thousand dances and still not be as entertaining as a monkey riding a dog.

  Perhaps it’s just me.  I suppose that my lifetime love of classical music and great art has created in me a more keen sense of beauty, then will ever be possessed by some junior producer at ESPN, Perhaps I have become a culture snob,some sort of an elitist, but I say to you, my friends, loved ones, fellow travelers and insomniacs,

monkey riding a dog; GREATEST HALFTIME SHOW EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ideas and actions

Ideas can be scary. Karl Marx had an idea, and millions suffer still as a result of giving charlatans an excuse to take control of power. Fortunately most people rarely bother stretch their minds outside the comfort zone of prime time television. Most people are afraid to take any actions that will actually expose themselves to danger.
This is why the occupy Wall Street protesters have failed. They did manage to get a lot of people to come together and stand around grumbling. There were even some acts of civil disobedience, but on the whole none of those people chose to risk anything of value and not one idea came forth from their milling about that could actually change the American situation.
I have an idea, but it does scare me, as a result I haven’t done the research to make it possible, but preliminary studies show it is entirely doable. The long term consequences however are so sweeping as to be unimaginable to my untrained mind.
Much of control is about the psychology of the group, and I think there is a group ready to exploit, which could shake the world to its foundations. Bank of America common stock is selling fairly low, after a downturn this summer caused by the markets belief that BOA was overvaluing itself. Now if all of those people whining and moaning in their occupy movement were to pool their money and purchase stock in BOA and move as a bloc under the administration of one capable leader, the game would be on. Enough voting and preferred stock would allow occupy to begin to sway other large holders who may be a little nervous to begin with. If the power of those votes were used to throw out the board and replace them with their own selections.
This idea frightens me because of the huge overall implications. If one bank fell then the rest would follow in short order and chaos would ensue. The finger of blame for that would surely point back to the government banking bailout. Had the government let some of these large corporations fail a new establishment would have risen, green and fresh and vibrant. Instead we are resting on the back of a rotten infrastructure which sits vulnerable to the masses waiting for one idea like mine to ferment and explode under pressure.

Christmas for the troops

Authors note: names in this story have been changed to protect people I love from the consequences of words spoken during a bitterly stressful time that few people would understand

"Those little bitches!" Generally swearing after mail call in Fallujaha is uncalled for, let's face it we lived for a new picture from our kid or a word of love, so we all gathered around Grif to see what was wrong.

Things were hot this trip, it was the winter prior to the surge in Iraq and we were on the staff of the Seabee Regiment tasked with preparing facilities for the upcoming operations. The base itself was mortared or rocketed daily, and we had lost a few troops everyone was on edge.

Grif had received a case of cookies from a Girl-scout troop in his hometown. "Everyone of those damn girls wrote me a letter, now I am going to have to write 30 thank you notes back. Well I am not doing it anymore, I am tired of this shit!"

Now of course we couldn't let it stand at that, so we all took a handful of letters and zipped off a few lines for Grif to sign. There was no way we would disappoint a bunch of teenage girls who were doing a good thing. After all we wouldn't have been there (most of us already on our second voluntary tour) if we ad been the kind of creeps who ignored little girls with cookies.

I am thinking about that now because it is almost Christmas and I am seeing appeals all over the place to do this and that for the troops and I am not at all sure that is what the troops want. We were always grateful for the expressions of support from home, but by the end it was luxury items. The military gave us the basic necessities and that's all a warrior really wants. During my tours in the zone I bet I have given away dozens of pounds of candy to LNs and TCNs who wanted it more then me. Not to mention all the stuff that was left behind or thrown away because we travel light. The best present I ever received from America was when someone sent us a bunch of copies of Playboy for Christmas in 2006, now that was a useful tool!

So what I am saying if you are still bothering to read this is support your troops by giving to a cause in their honor. Drop something in the Toys for Tots bin or write Metropolitan Ministries a check in honor of the U.S. military, but do something to make a solider proud of you this Christmas.

is it as good for you as it was for me

The cat was speeding us into oblivion, downshifting into the corners, giving me that aint we having fun now look, as the tires staggered across the pavement, screaming in protest until the road straightens, then, catching traction, hurtling us towards our doom.

How I came to be in a runaway sports car driven by an adrenal addicted tabby is quite a tale. This however is not that story.

I staggered into the bar about ten thirty slumping onto a stool, wiping the memories of last night from my eyes. Mike had already done the prep work and opened the shutters and doors overlooking the beach. We don’t normally do much business this early, but, occasionally a thirsty tourist comes in looking for one of our signature dishes. As young warriors on liberty in the French Quarter we had learned the secret to tropical drinks is pineapple juice, umbrellas, and lots of grain alcohol.

In reality business hasn’t been good since Club Misogyny opened up down the beach. Recently Mike has been working on new recipes to try and bust back into the lead and today, he greets me by sliding a martini glass filled with a frozen purple drink down the bar, “drink this bro”. I sniff tentatively and Mike explains, “it’s blueberry schnapps and rum I call it a bluna colada.

“You know brother sometimes I think, it would be easier for me to have stayed with one of my wives, then it is for me to keep you as my best friend.”

a walk in the sunshine

Ms Jayne Goody knew exactly what to do about the strawberries. She stood at the garden gate fussily adjusting her hat in the midday sun and admiring the garden, product of so many hours of work. Then spurred by the promise of great return for a small amount of work she opened the gate and stepped through. Ms. Goody strode briskly through the garden ignoring the radishes, cucumbers, and tomatoes to stop at the first mound of delicious ripe red berries. Taking her pruning shears from her apron she gently grabbed the first plant at the base and cut it off even to the ground. She repeated this action 20 more times until the garden was a killing field of once proud fruit. Then she stood returning her pruners to her pocket and brushing the dirt from her knees.
“Lavina Adams should learn not to gossip, after all whose business is it if a woman of a certain age wishes to entertain a few gentlemen callers”, she mumbled to herself straightening her hat once more. Then with a certainty that time is fleeting she turned and hurried towards downtown so as not to miss the opening of Wednesday ladies meeting at the civic club.
Lavina Adams brushed a stray crumb off her pleated skirt as she reached for another cucumber sandwich, they could have been better, the cucumber was overripe and missing that crisp snap she enjoyed in her mouth. She grew much better in her own garden and indeed had won many blue ribbons at the county fair, but things were just too tight this year to waste food on this lot of prissy old biddies. Even now here came that awful Jayne Goody.
“That woman is the scandal of Greentown, lights on at her house at all hours, playing that jazz music so loud you can hear it the minute you set foot on her porch to set her straight about a few things.” She smiled; a thin tight line, showing no teeth, and removing the color from her already pale lips, a smile she reserved for harlots like Jayne.
The meeting dragged on interminably, prolonged by an extended argument over the theme for decorating the square, in honor of Independence Day. In the end Hester Marshal won out with her plan for an homage to John Paul Jones and Battle of Flamborough Head. Really it was going to take a lot of red carnations to recreate that many dead British, but there was no way that Hallsville could be allowed to outdo them this year.
Jayne Goody and Levina Adams headed for their respective homes wrapped in their private thoughts. Jayne was concerned with what might be needed to prepare for tonight’s gentlemen callers and Levina wondered if she had set the timer for the hydroponic pump in the basement correctly. After all times are hard and a woman has to make a living doesn’t she?

reasons for suicide

Top 10 reasons for committing suicidee
1. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
2. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
3. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
4. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
5. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
6. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
7. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
8. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
9. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
10. No longer wanting to be the best at everything I do
What it all comes down to is pride, pride in yourself, and pride in the organization surrounding you. I could not imagine a child wanting to grow up and be the Vice President, or the backup quarterback. Yet those people are important and there is no shame in their life, because in order to make it to second best they had to strive and sweat. Aim for perfect my friend Joe Gonzales always says and where you land will be good enough. I am wondering now whether I am different, did I accidentally get the success gene, is it my upbringing? I know for a fact that I have a brother who is the best damn janitor in Citrus County and who really cares about doing a good job for the health and safety of the children at the school he works at. He is a success, not rich or powerful, but good at what he does and striving to move up. It seems all my brothers have that a little, maybe it is nurture instead of nature. At any rate not wanting to try harder to me seems to be the saddest thing on Earth and I am hoping that those of you who read this and agree will make an attempt to pass the message along.

rage against the machine

I was thinking about how pervasive computers have become in our modern world. In some ways I know that this is a good thing. In the past, for example, if you got a DUI you could move to another state get a new driver’s license and start over, continuing your life of bad ideas. On the other side of the coin in the past you could also use that set of circumstances to change your life, and start over without being pursued by the indiscretions of youth.

These days however, the state governments track your every move there is no escape. It seems a little bit insane to me. Worse however is the way we allow ourselves to be tracked by the public in general via social media. I know that as a frontierville addict that seems a little hypocritical however I am just saying let’s look at ourselves. Lately I have been noticing that a few people on my friends list need to do some growing up and that makes me feel a little sad. In the past those are the friends you would bump into once in a while, have an outrageous time, name the hangover in their honor and see again in six months. These days however with their constant Facebook posts they just become tiresome. What do I do? I don’t want to lose the occasional bacchanal, but I also don’t want to hear the same stories repeated endlessly with a new cast of characters.

I have decided that it is time for a personal deescalation from the internet culture. I can’t abandon it completely, I go to school on the computer, I write and post these blogs on the net, but it is time for me to slow down and begin detaching myself from the wired in culture. Therefore I resolve to stop watching porn on my computer. From this day on if I want to see a naked sleazy woman I will get up and drive to the strip club like our forefathers. Viva la revolucion!